Up at Butternut Lake: A Novel Read Free

Only now we’re not at home anymore. We’re here instead. So how will he know where to look for me?”
    Allie felt her eyes fill with tears. She blinked them back. She was determined not to cry. Not in front of Wyatt, anyway. There’d be plenty of time for that later, after he’d fallen asleep.
    “Wyatt, he’ll always know where you are, wherever you go,” Allie explained. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
    “And he’ll always be watching over me?” Wyatt prompted.
    “Always,” Allie said with a smile.
    He squirmed again. “Even if I’m getting into trouble?” he asked.
    Now it was Allie’s turn to frown. “What do you mean by ‘trouble’?”
    “Well, remember when Teddy came over, and we caught that frog?” he asked, suddenly animated. “And we put him in the sink in the laundry room? To live there. Only I didn’t tell you about it. Because I didn’t think you’d let me keep him there. And then you found him anyway. And you got mad. Was he watching me then? Because if he was, he might have been mad at me, too.” He collapsed back on his pillow, slightly out of breath.
    Allie shook her head vehemently, still fighting back the tears. “No, Wyatt. He wasn’t mad at you. Not at all. And neither was I. Not really. I was just a little . . . surprised when I found the frog, that’s all.”
    Then she smiled, remembering something. “You know, Wyatt, your dad did much more mischievous things than that when he was a little boy. I’ll tell you about them sometime, okay?”
    He nodded, obviously relieved.
    “And Wyatt? From now on, why don’t we say that your dad is only looking down on you when you need him to, all right? I mean, he’ll always be there for you. But he doesn’t have to watch you every minute of every day. He knows you’re a big boy now. He knows that most of the time you can take care of yourself.”
    Wyatt nodded again, this time sleepily. And Allie made a mental note to be more careful of how she phrased things in the future, given how literal Wyatt’s thinking still was.
    Now, he snuggled deeper under the covers and Allie looked out the window. She found the break in the trees that denoted the lake. It was too dark to see the water, but her eyes followed what she knew to be the shoreline. About half a mile away, across the bay, she saw a lighted dock. She frowned. A dock meant a house, and a house meant a neighbor. There hadn’t been any neighbors the last time she was here. Her family’s cabin had had the whole bay to itself.
    She sighed. She should have known there would be changes here, too. Even in Butternut, Minnesota, time didn’t stand still. But a neighbor? That hadn’t been part of her plan. Her plan had been to come to a place where there were no neighbors. At least not any close by.
    She thought of their neighbors back home in Eden Prairie. They’d tried to be helpful. They’d brought her and Wyatt an endless procession of casseroles. They’d raked their leaves, shoveled snow out of their driveway, and mowed their lawn. All without asking.
    She knew she should have been grateful. And she was, to a point. But she couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been easier to grieve privately. Without feeling that you’d somehow become a curiosity. Someone to stare at, surreptitiously, at the grocery store, or speak to, a little self-consciously, at the playground.
    Of course, the novelty of her widowhood had eventually worn off, but what had replaced it was worse. Because what came next were the suggestions, sometimes from family and friends, sometimes from only casual acquaintances, that it might be time to move on, to pick up the pieces. She was still young, they’d pointed out. There was no reason to think there wouldn’t be another husband someday. Maybe even another child.
    These conversations, it turned out, and not the pitying glances, had been Allie’s breaking point. When they’d started, she’d known it was time to leave.
    Now, sitting on